THE LONDON DRUG WARS (30 page)

Tomas Dimitri, Bronchi’s enforcer,
sat in the interview room at Chelsea Police Station flanked by his solicitor, a
man of fifty-something dressed in a pinstriped suit. Opposite him sat DS Fred
Middlemiss and DC Gill Foreman. Anxious as he was to conduct the interview,
Brookes knew that he couldn’t as he’d been the target of the hitmen. He had to
content himself with watching the video feed in a room above.

Dimitri was dressed in a leather
jacket, open-necked silk shirt and fawn twill trousers. He smelled of expensive
aftershave and cigars. The expression on his face was a mixture of arrogance
and hate. His eyes moved from Middlemiss to Foreman and back again as he sought
to intimidate them with his presence. The two detectives barely glanced at him
as they studied their interview notes. The atmosphere in the room was electric.

Middlemiss inserted two tapes into
the recorder and switched it on. He stated the date, time and place, and each
of the four people present stated their names; Dimitri only after prompting by
his solicitor. Middlemiss then read the formal caution. When asked if he
understood the caution Dimitri grunted a yes.

Then Middlemiss paused for a long
moment, looking down at his notes. It was a deliberate ploy and both the men
opposite knew it. Nevertheless both became agitated and fidgety. A full thirty
seconds passed before Middlemiss looked up from his notes and smiled at the
Russian.

“We wish to interview you concerning
the attempted murder of two police officers this morning in Limehouse. Are you
willing to answer questions Mr. Dimitri?”

“I was not anywhere near Limehouse
this morning and know nothing of any attempted murder. I have witnesses to
prove where I was.” His English was good but spoken with a broad East European
accent.

“But you are willing to answer our
questions are you?”

“You are wasting my time; I had
nothing to do with this.”

His solicitor leant towards him and
whispered something in his ear. Dimitri said, “Yes I will answer your
questions.”

Middlemiss smiled. “Thank you. What
do you do for a living Tomas?” His use of the prisoner’s first name had the
effect of bringing the man down to the level of a common pickpocket.

Dimitri gave him a look of pure
hatred. “I am a businessman?”

“A businessman, what does that
actually mean Tomas?”

“I have investments in companies.”

“What companies would those be
Tomas?”

“A chain of supermarkets.”

“Yes, what else?”

Dimitri hesitated. Then he said, “I
have investments in the entertainment industry.”

“Really; can you be more specific
please?”

“Nightclubs.”

“And the names of these clubs?”

“The Green Emerald.”

Middlemiss waited for him to go on.
When he didn’t he said, “You said ‘clubs’, plural Tomas, what are the names of
the other clubs?”

“It is no matter, they have ceased to
operate.”

“But their names please Tomas.”

Dimitri glared at him, “You know
their names; you closed them down. The Blue Orchid and the Moscow Nights.”

Middlemiss smiled. “Ah yes; both had
their licences taken away because the managers were involved in criminal
activities.”

“I know nothing of such activities.”

“But you do sit on the board of
directors, don’t you Tomas?”

Dimitri didn’t reply; he sat glaring
at Middlemiss, who didn’t turn a hair.

Middlemiss moved on. “Are there any
other businesses you are involved in?”

“No.”

“So you don’t actually do any work.”

Dimitri frowned. “What work?”

“You’re not a salesman for example,
are you?”

“No I am not a salesman.”

“You don’t sell arms for example?”

“What arms, what are you talking
about?”

“You know, guns, explosives that sort
of stuff.”

“No, I am a legitimate businessman.”

“Then what were you doing delivering
a rocket propelled grenade launcher and an AK47 rifle to an address in Cricklewood
yesterday morning, Tomas?”

Dimitri sat back from the table as if
he had received a physical blow. His arrogance was gone and it took him a
moment to compose himself. Eventually he licked his lips and said, “No, you are
mistaken, I have never been to – how you say? Cricklewood.”

“Really? What car do you drive
Tomas?”

The solicitor whispered instructions
into the Russian’s ear, who wiped sweat from his forehead. “I drive a BMW.” His
voice was just above a whisper.

“What was in the big black bag you took
into No. 24,
Caroline
Road, Cricklewood
yesterday morning Tomas?”

The solicitor intervened. “I wish to
confer with my client in private, Sergeant.”

Middlemiss nodded. “Of course sir.”
Into the recorder he said, “Interview suspended at…” he looked at his watch,
“4.57pm.” Switching off the recorder, he got up and left the room followed by
Foreman.

In the room above Brookes said, “Got
you, you bastard; let’s see how you wriggle out of this one.”

Beside him Brigid said, “Fred was
wonderful sir; he led him right into the trap.”

“Yes Brigid but they haven’t finished
yet; wait till Gill gets at him.”

*

Ten minutes later the solicitor
emerged from the room and beckoned the two detectives.

When they were all seated and the
recorder had been restarted he said, “Clearly this is a case of mistaken
identity Sergeant. My client wishes to co-operate but he knows nothing of the
events you describe. Nor has he anything to do with the attack on your
officers. That is all we have to say on the subject.”

Foreman spoke for the first time.
“Can I remind you of the caution my colleague gave your client at the beginning
of the interview; anything not mentioned here that you later rely on in court
will carry less weight, sir. We’d like to give Mr. Dimitri every chance to
explain his actions. I have some more questions to put to him.”

The solicitor looked at Dimitri who
had an arrogant smile on his face. He nodded. “Let her ask her questions.”

Foreman gave him a wide smile. “Thank
you Mr. Dimitri.”

From a large, clear plastic envelope
on the desk in front of her she took a mobile phone. The smile remained on her
face as she said, “This is the phone we took from you when we arrested you.
Will you confirm it’s yours sir?”

Dimitri took it and pressed some
buttons. He said, “Yes this is my phone.”

She took it back from him. “State of
the art isn’t it sir? Do you carry it with you all the time?”

“Of course; my business associates
confer with me from time to time.”

“And I don’t suppose you let anyone
else use it do you?”

Dimitri smiled. “No but I will make
an exception for you if you wish to use it.”

“That’s kind of you, sir.” She
pressed a series of buttons on the phone. Then she turned the screen towards
him and pointed to a line of figures. “I see it keeps a record of all the calls
you receive. I see there’s a call you received yesterday morning at 7.01 am.”

Dimitri opened his mouth to speak
then closed it again. Clearly he realised where this was going.

Foreman continued, “We took a mobile
phone off one of the assassins’ dead body Mr. Dimitri. This was one of the two
men who tried to kill two police officers. The call you received yesterday
morning was from this phone. How do you explain that?”

“That is ridiculous, I know no
assassins.”

Freeman placed a photograph of one of
the dead Chechens in front of the Russian, “Perhaps this will jog your memory,
sir.”

Dimitri shook his head vigorously. “I
don’t know this man. I have never seen him before.”

“Are you sure sir?”

“I am positive.”

Foreman nodded. “Can we go back to
the house in Cricklewood, No. 24
Caroline
Road. We have video footage of your car parked outside that
address yesterday morning. How do you explain that sir?”

I don’t know, maybe someone borrowed
my car; I keep it in an underground garage. Maybe someone took it away.”

“I don’t think that’s likely, sir.
You see we have pictures of you emerging from the front door of the house on
the same video footage.”

The solicitor put his hand on
Dimitri’s arm. He said, “That’s enough officer. My client asserts his right to
remain silent. I wish to see the video footage. I’m sure there is an innocent
explanation for all this. Now will you release my client please?”

Middlemiss scratched his head. “Not
that simple I’m afraid, sir. We need for him to come with us while we search
his house.”

“You have no right to search his
house Sergeant, he is not charged with any offence.”

‘Well
sir, there’s a judge that seems to disagree with you. He signed this search
warrant.” Middlemiss gently placed the warrant on the table between them.

“Once more into the breach dear friends, once more;

Or close the wall up with our English dead.
”

–
William
Shakespeare

It was two nights later and Brookes
was at Liza’s trying to relax after two hectic days. Immediately after the
attempt on his life, Angus Fraser and his team had disappeared back into the
anonymous world in which they operated. Brookes and Brigid were left with, what
was to Brookes, the distasteful task of dealing with the media. The
Commissioner had called a press conference and insisted he attend and answer
questions.

He had little time for the reporters,
who swooped like a flock of buzzards try to squeeze the last intimate detail
out of him. He especially disliked their efforts to turn him into a hero. He
would have none of it and sought only to get on with the job of catching
Bronchi. His temper had finally snapped when some eager young woman shoved a
microphone under his nose and asked, ‘How did you feel when you saw the rocket
launcher pointed at you?’

His reply was unprintable; along the
lines of “How on Earth do you think I felt?” but much more basic. But the feed
was live to several TV channels and went out to millions of viewers. This only
added to his growing reputation as a hard-nosed detective and went unpunished by
the Commissioner, who immediately called the conference to a close, saying that
Brookes needed time to recover from the harrowing experience.

Brookes and his team had worked
through the remainder of the day examining the evidence and attempting to tie
Bronchi to the attempted killing. But the only thing linking the Russian to the
two Chechens was the tainted evidence obtained from the bug in Bronchi’s
apartment that could never be produced in court.

That night Brookes had spent at
Liza’s. There had been a difficult moment when he’d arrived there. She had
learned of the attempt on his life only from the TV news as he’d had no chance
to call her in the intervening period. It had come as a complete shock. His
efforts to shield her from the knowledge of the danger he’d been in, meant she
had felt left out of a part of his life. Their relationship was now at a
crossroads. It could not stay still but had to move into a state of complete
trust or wither and die. It was something they would need to discuss.

But not tonight. With his brain idle,
for the first time since the rocket was fired at him, the inevitable reaction
had set in. She gave him what he needed, a hug, a meal and a drink or two to
unwind. After dinner, despite his protests, she’d left him sitting on the couch
with a large whiskey whilst she cleared away the dishes. Later, when she
returned she’d found him asleep on the couch. She’d put a blanket over him and
left him. At the breakfast table the next morning they had talked. In fact very
little had to be said; he’d realised that he could no longer leave her out of
the loop and keep her aware of all that was going on in his life. When Brigid
arrived to pick him up he again had a smile on his face.

The day had been dedicated to
Dimitri’s involvement. Thanks to Middlemiss and Foreman’s interviewing skills
and the thoroughness of the forensic team, they had him dead to rights. Fibres
found in the boot of Dimitri’s car matched those found on the outside of the
black bag, and fibres and oil on the inside of the bag matched those found on
the weapons, placing them in the bag, the bag in the car and with the film on
the movie camera, Dimitri in the car. In the same way debris found on the soles
of Dimitri’s shoes matched those of a carpet at the
Caroline
Road address placing him there. All
of this ensured that the case against him was, as Middlemiss described it, a
slam dunker. He was charged with attempted murder and bail was refused. He was
effectively out of play. But inevitably he, like all the other potential
witnesses, had clammed up and not put Bronchi in the frame.

*

It was almost midnight and Brookes
was asleep beside Liza. Yet again, the telephone disturbed his rest.

He answered it resignedly. “Yes, what
is it?”

“It’s Bill Moore boss. We’ve lost
Bronchi.”

“Lost him? How the hell do you do
that?”

“He did a switch on us. Mike Phillips
and Stumpy Garrett followed him to the Green Emerald nightclub earlier this
evening. Half an hour ago, the chauffeur brought the car round to the entrance
and two men got in. One was his bodyguard; the other looked like Bronchi and
was wearing his overcoat.

Fortunately young Mike was alert;
something didn’t seem quite right. The Russian’s car got caught in traffic and
Mike’s car pulled up level with them. He got a good look at the face of the man
in the back and saw it wasn’t Bronchi, the eyes were wrong. Mike used his head,
he phoned Fred Middlemiss. Fred had taken Pierre out for a curry and they had
the Renault van with them. They activated the tracking devices and picked up two
of the Russians’ cars on the move.”

“Where are they heading?”

“North London boss; towards Little
Turkey. Eric Brown’s team and SO 19 are after them and Brigid is on her way to
pick you up.”

“Good, well done Derek. I’ll meet her
outside.” He slammed down the phone, kissed Liza, giving her a quick
explanation as he dressed and was out of the door in less than five minutes.

He was standing on the pavement as
Brigid pulled up in the car. He scrambled in and she pulled away from the kerb
whilst he was still closing the door. Gill Foreman was sitting in the back.
Brookes greeted them both. Foreman explained that she and Brigid had been out
having a meal together when the call came. Brookes said nothing but was quietly
pleased that Brigid had become an accepted part of the team and was socialising
with its members.

Brigid drove as fast as she was able
through the late night London traffic. The radio was tuned to the channel being
used for the operation. The three travelled in silence, listening to the events
unfolding.

Middlemiss’ distinctive voice came
over the airwaves. “All units from Bravo One. Target vehicles have stopped.
Repeat target vehicle no longer on the move. It looks like they’re going for a
kebab. First unit there do a drive past and confirm.”

“Bravo One from Bravo Two. We’re
almost there; we’ll do it.”

Brookes recognised Eric Brown’s
voice.

Middlemiss replied, “That’s received.
Delta
one, where are you?”

John Barnes from the SO 19 van
replied coolly, “Five minutes away Bravo One.”

“Keep coming.
Zulu
One,
Zulu
One. Are you receiving?”

Brookes picked up the transmitter on
the car radio and said, “Bravo One from Zulu One, we are at least twenty
minutes away. Bravo Two take command until I arrive. Acknowledge please.”

Brown replied, “That’s a yes boss.
Bravo Two over.”

Putting the transmitter down, Brookes
said, “I hope to hell we’re in time. If we don’t catch Bronchi with the drugs,
I doubt we’ll get another chance at him for a long time.”

They travelled on in a silence broken
only by the traffic noises until the radio spoke again. “All units, all units,
this is Bravo Two. There are two vehicles parked outside the restaurant. Four
men in the street looking hostile, they must be lookouts. No sign of Ivan, he
must be inside.”

Middlemiss spoke again. “Bravo Two
from Bravo One. That’s confirmed Bravo Two, that’s a yes.”

Brookes’ face creased into a frown.
“How the hell does Fred know that?” The frown slowly turned into a smile as he
remembered Moore and Foreman’s visit to the restaurant. “You sneaky bastard
Bill, you’ve bugged the restaurant.”

From the back seat Foreman said, “I
wondered what he was doing under the table sir.”

Brookes realised that he had been
thinking out loud. He coughed. “Sorry about the language girls. I’m sure he was
just scratching his knee, Gill. That’s all you need to know.”

There was silence for a long moment
before she replied simply, “Yes sir.”

The radio crackled again. “All units,
all units. They’re coming out. Where are you Delta One?”

“Ten seconds, we’re approaching the
turning now.”

Brown’s voice again. “Come straight
in Delta One. All units close in now. There are seven targets and they look
hostile; have your equipment ready.”

Brookes cursed, they were still some
minutes away; he could do nothing but listen.

“All units. They’re shooting at us.”
The excited voice gave no call sign.

Brookes could hear the sounds of
firing in the background. “Damn,” he said. “Not again.”

Brigid spoke quietly. “You’ve done
all you can, sir. No-one can blame you.”

“I know Brigid, I know. But it doesn’t
help.”

For a full two minutes, the radio was
silent.

Then, another excited voice over the
airwaves. “Get some ambulances here; there’s people down.”

Middlemiss acknowledged. “Will do.
Can anyone give me a situation report?”

The calm voice of John Barnes
responded. “Zulu one and Bravo one. Situation under control. There are several
casualties.”

Brookes could contain himself no
longer. He picked up the transmitter. “What about the casualties? Someone tell
me who’s hurt. Zulu One over.”

Barnes replied, “All friendlies alive
and kicking sir, just a few minor injuries.”

“Bravo Two what’s the situation with
the Russians?”

“Zulu One. Ivan is in custody and we
have the goods boss. We’ve got him dead to rights.”

“Yes!” Foreman screamed excitedly
from the back seat, punching the air.

Five long minutes after the firing
had ceased Brookes arrived at the scene. Several vehicles blocked the street.
He got out of the car and half ran towards the restaurant. He pushed his way
through a crowd of onlookers being held back by a uniformed constable. He
showed his warrant card and was allowed to pass.

The first person he recognised was
John Barnes squatting down beside two wounded colleagues. Brookes knelt beside
him. “How are they John?”

“Just flesh wounds sir, the flak jackets
stopped any serious injury. One of your detectives got hit too but he’ll be
OK.”

“Thank God for that.”

He spoke briefly to the two injured
men then got to his feet and looked around him. There were a group of his
detectives wearing flak jackets clearly marked ‘police’, surrounding a wounded
colleague sitting on the pavement in front of the restaurant; he saw it was
Stumpy Garret.

Brookes walked over and smiled. “How
are you Stumpy?”

The young detective looked up. “Not
too bad sir, I think I’ll live.”

“Good, ambulances are on the way.”

Garret’s eyes turned to Brigid, who
knelt down beside him. The look that passed between them told Brookes that
there was romance in the air. He left them to it and stood surveying the scene
around him. There were three bodies lying where they had fallen. All were
Russians; they were obviously dead; four others were sitting on the pavement a
few yards from where Stumpy sat awaiting treatment. Two of them were injured
and were nursing their wounds.

Bronchi was one of the two that
appeared to have escaped unscathed. Brookes stared at him without speaking.
This was the man who was responsible for so much carnage. Seated on the
pavement wearing handcuffs and surrounded by armed detectives, he looked almost
innocuous. Except for his eyes, the pupils glowed yellow in the light cast by
the street lamps. He glared malevolently back at Brookes, who held his stare
for a moment then looked around for Eric Brown.

DC Phillips approached him. “DS Moore
is in the restaurant, boss. He’s got the evidence.”

Brookes smiled. “I hear it was you
that spotted the switch Mike, well done.”

The young detective’s face reddened
at the compliment. “Thank you sir.”

Brookes walked into the restaurant,
treading carefully on the broken glass that was everywhere; the windows had
been shattered in the gun battle. He saw Moore talking to two swarthy men,
obviously the Turks; two other dark skinned heavyweights sat at a table.

Moore turned as he approached. “Hello
boss, this is Mr. Guny and his associate, they are the ones who were doing
business with Bronchi.”

The two
immediately started protesting their innocence.

The two detectives ignored them and
stepped away so that they could talk privately. Moore said, “I’ve got the
heroin, looks like about twenty-five kilos of it. Brusilov and the two heavies
were carrying it. Brusilov was one of the three that were killed. It looks like
another slam-dunk, as Fred would say. It’s a pity we can’t use the tape, we
could probably screw the Turks down with what’s on there.”

“As you say, a pity. But we might
just have enough to charge them anyway; we’ll see what forensics come up. Make
sure you remove the bug before we go, I don’t want any of the evidence here
tainted. You’ve done a good job Bill. Sorry I wasn’t here to see it.”